


As You Command

by Nimbus_Cloud



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9077020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimbus_Cloud/pseuds/Nimbus_Cloud
Summary: Commissioned by curiouslylazy as a birthday gift for skittidyne.While the King and Queen are away traveling for affairs of state, their son Crown Prince Kenma must rule Nekoma in their stead along with his royal husband, Prince Kuroo. But a little squabble during a council meeting leaves Kenma quite displeased with his husband, and he intends on teaching Kuroo a lesson in order to remind him of their positions. Desecrating the throne room is just an added bonus.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skittidyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/gifts).



The throne room of Kenma’s palace—well, the palace of his sovereign parents’ to be more precise—was a grandiose architectural affair.  He had always thought so, even as a young child with no understanding of the important state matters that took place in the hall.  All he knew was that the sunlight filtered in through the stained glass windows like a dream, the colors dancing upon the light and breathing life to columns of marble and alabaster stone.  The vaulted ceiling was trimmed with frescoes framed in onyx, and it sloped upward above the thrones, built highest above the seat of the Sovereign and lowest by the main entrance doors on the opposite end.  As a boy, Kenma had watched his father the King and his mother the Queen sit upon the mighty thrones to treat with the Court, their subjects, foreign diplomats… Their decrees had meant little then, but he understood the magnificence of it all and the importance of the room.

When the King and Queen traveled, it fell to Kenma (and his husband, Prince Tetsurou) to sit upon the thrones as the acting Sovereigns, and over the past year, Kenma developed an additional sense of reverence for the hall.  The state duties completed within gave the walls purpose, but they stood sacred even when the interior echoed as empty as a field. 

Kenma took a deep breath from where he sat on the throne, breathing deep the smell of the empty hall, peppered by the scents of burning torch oils. 

“You may step forward.” This was normally the Herald’s job.  But the Court Herald was sound asleep in his chambers because it was the middle of the night and the throne room was meant to be closed.

Approaching the dais, Kuroo Tetsurou—royal husband to the heir apparent—knelt at the steps, head bowed and stark naked. 

“You stand accused…” Kenma flicked his wrist, slapping the riding crop in his hand against the side of his father’s throne.  “…of annoying your Prince.” 

Kuroo swallowed hard at the sound of the leather reverberating through the empty hall, the vibrations in the air humming in his ears and stirring a heat low in his belly.  Looking up at his husband seated on the throne bedecked in splendor, he caught sight of the glittering rubies of Kenma’s coronet and felt himself stand entirely erect.  Sneaking through the corridors of the palace as exposed as he was should have mortified any decent man.  But noblemen were not decent men, and Kuroo had arrived at the throne room half-hard and leaking. 

“You spoke out of turn.” Kenma continued, and some of the playfulness gave way to actual displeasure.  “You _challenged_ my authority before the counsel.  On what grounds?”

The power in Kenma’s voice made Kuroo shiver.  This was not the quiet, unassuming prince he had wedded over a year past, the one who had blushed during their first dance together and shuddered to hear of Kuroo’s war history as he gently traced the scars on his skin.  No, this was the Kenma who only ever appeared when duty called; only in the most public of spaces… and very occasionally, also in the most private of times.

“I spoke selfishly,” Kuroo spoke softly.  “But out of love for my people and hope for their future prosperity.  The trade agreement with—“

“They _were_ your people.” Kenma calmly corrected.  “But you are now bound to me in these lands.  _These_ are your people.  Or do you not wish for their prosperity as well?”

“That is an unfair accusation, my love—“

Kenma rose from the throne and cracked the leather in his hand.

“I am your sovereign.” Kenma’s eyes glinted as red as the rubies atop his golden head.

Kuroo bowed his head, stifling a moan.  “Forgive me—“

“Again you speak out of turn.  It seems I’ve no recourse but to discipline you.”

In this sacred hall, with his divine right to rule, all deeds done by the sovereign were just and sanctified.  Kenma stepped forward, his cape trailing softly behind him.  He walked past Kuroo, descended the steps of the dais, then turned to gaze upon his prince, prostrate before the throne, trembling with excitement.  He appeared as an offering, and in some ways, he had been.  The second son of an allied kingdom seeking position and protection.  But Kuroo Tetsurou was not an offering for the gods, he was for Kenma.  And where the gods demanded blood, Kenma desired in this moment only to hear his beloved cry out when struck. 

He slapped his hand across a cheek, and the prince bit down to stifle a moan. 

_No, that won’t do…_

Kenma struck him again, harder.  Kuroo gave only a slightly louder cry, again muffled behind closed lips.  Tetsurou… A man of iron cheer.  Iron was forged into swords, cold and unrelenting; but iron also ran in blood, hot and excitable.  Kenma watched as the skin of Tetsurou’s bottom grew bright pink, that iron blood bursting under the skin… did he want blood after all?  Kenma slapped him again.  Again.  The same spot.  Again and again until at last Kuroo gave a clear-voiced cry, crumpling forward onto the steps.

“Agh!  Hah… ah… Kenma…”

Kenma let the tender skin fell the keen sting of another blow.  “Address.” He said firmly, though he was himself about ready to burst out of his breeches.

“M-my lord…” Kuroo heaved, the flush on his face rivalling that on his rear. 

The want in that voice hit Kenma between his legs in a rush, and he braced himself by laying both hands on Kuroo’s low back, kneading the skin beneath his fingers with carefully controlled breaths.  Once he could be sure he wouldn’t come just from hearing Kuroo speak, he pulled a small vial from his coat pocket and coated the fingers of one hand with the thick, viscous liquid. 

“Remind me…” Kenma whispered as he snaked his hand down the cleft of Kuroo’s cheeks, teasingly pressing the tip of his finger against his entrance.  “Who wears the crown?”

Technically, it was Kenma’s father the King, but Kuroo instead murmured, “M-my lord husband, the crown prince.”

Pleased with the answer, Kenma slipped his finger inside.  It went in easily, Kuroo had prepared himself before coming.  To test the extent of his preparations, Kenma tried pushing in a second finger immediately.  It slid in with little resistance, and Kuroo writhed and moaned beneath him, his heavy breaths echoing throughout the empty hall.

Leaning down, Kenma whispered into Kuroo’s ear, “Shh… the guards will hear.”

Kuroo bit his lip, then buried his face into his arms in an attempt to stifle his cries.  As his lord commanded.  But his lord was being contrary—he wanted nothing more than to hear the cries of his dear, royal husband echo like music throughout the hall.  He pushed his fingers deeper inside, reaching, curling… Kuroo’s body gave a violent shudder, and he clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, though no small amount of noise still escaped from between his fingers.  Were they in their bedchambers, he’d be louder—they were _both_ of them louder—but there was something inexplicably tantalizing too, about Kuroo’s attempts at restraint. 

Soon, Kuroo’s cries were keening, his hips thrusting dangerously in time with Kenma’s fingers.  Just as he tensed for release, Kenma pulled out of him suddenly, leaving him gaping and empty and whimpering.

“Hah… hah… ah!”

Kenma covered Kuroo’s mouth with his hand and cooed into his Prince’s ear to calm him. 

“Not yet…” he murmured.  Somewhere in the distance, Kenma heard the muffled clanging of the guards on night patrol drawing near to the throne room.  They wouldn’t enter for they’d assume the room to be empty.  That was, of course, unless they heard something.  He wondered if Kuroo could even hear them above his own panting and through his fevered haze.  Possibly not.

Withdrawing completely, Kenma quietly made his way back up the dais and re-seated himself on his father’s throne.  Leaving Kuroo a quivering mess on the steps, Kenma closed his eyes in contemplation as he waited for the guards to pass.  Again, he considered the space they were in. 

As a boy, he’d sneak into the throne room at night to play pretend, imagining he wore his father’s crown and could solve the kingdom’s every dilemma.  It was a game, and the troubles of the nation merely puzzles to unravel.  As he grew into adolescence, the throne began to frighten him.  He felt the weight of the crown would crush him.  When he felt the eyes of the Court on him in expectation, his breath would catch in his throat, his palms sweaty on the arm rests. 

But context was everything.  At some point, he became an adult, and he sat on the throne as a married man with Kuroo sitting on the seat beside his.  His husband, his prince, his strength…

He opened his eyes to return to the present and curled his finger, beckoning Kuroo closer to him.  Kuroo made an attempt to rise, but Kenma clicked his tongue.

“On your hands and knees.”

“…as you command,” Kuroo whispered breathlessly.

Kenma did not miss the way Kuroo’s eyes lingered on his coronet as he looked him over.  The glittering symbol of his authority.  Ahh… but the truth of the power play was this: It was not the silver on his head that gave him power, it was the iron cheer by his side, who now crawled toward him like a panther—a dangerous predator—only to settle between his legs like an obedient housecat. 

“My lord…” Kuroo pleaded, his voice husky and broken. 

Kenma put a finger to his lips, then pointed to the doors that made the side entrance.  In the echoing quiet, they heard the guard outside linger and give a loud yawn—Lev, if his ears could be trusted.  “You must be silent.”

When Kuroo opened his mouth to protest, Kenma grabbed him suddenly by the chin, his eyes flickering to the bulge in his own trousers hitherto unattended.

“If you can’t be silent, I’ll need to gag you.”

Kuroo’s long eyelashes fluttered as he gave a low moan, his hands coming up to unlace the strings of Kenma’s waistband and freeing his lord’s straining cock.  But before he could put his mouth to it, Kenma stopped him with a lazy flick of his fingers.

“Have you my permission?” His voice was faltering.  He wanted Kuroo’s mouth on him desperately, but the coronet atop his head pressed him with the reminder of their game. 

“May I?  My lord?” Kuroo asked as innocently as he could, but a smirk played on the corners of his lips. 

Kenma bit back a moan and swallowed.  “…you may—ah!”

Kuroo’s mouth was on him instantly, and Kenma immediately bit his lip in an effort to stifle a groan.   He pressed the back of his head against the cushions of the throne and felt its magnitude push back against him.  If he closed his eyes, all he could feel was the hot warmth of Kuroo’s tongue, working his length up and down, swirling around the tip and pressing into the slit…

Stubbornly, he forced his eyes open.  It would be a pity to come so soon.  He was in the seat of the sovereign, in this magnificent hall of power.  He was… he…

The illusion was fast fading.  Kenma could not feel the reverence for the room nor the weight of his crown, nor the austerity of the gilded chair at his back—all he could feel was Kuroo’s devotion, his zeal… their titles became meaningless.  Kenma felt himself but a man at the mercy of his love. 

The faint clanging of armor brought his senses back in a cold rush.  He listened as the footsteps moved slowly away into the distance, the guard moving to patrol another area.  Moaning aloud a little, Kenma pushed on Kuroo’s shoulders to urge him away. 

There was no shortage of disappointment in that expression as Kuroo’s mouth was forced away from Kenma’s cock.  Such an eager lover he was…

Kenma took deep, deliberate breaths to calm himself as he adjusted the coronet gone askew on his head.  Their game wasn’t over yet.  The next patrol for this area would come by in half a bell.  And they were still too far from dawn for their cries to be mistaken for the morning songbirds. 

“You look magnificent, my love.” Kuroo breathed, lying his head lazily upon Kenma’s knee.  He was slipping; they were both slipping.

Kenma coughed, forcing himself to remember the parameters of their play.  He had been slighted—he was attempting to forgive.  “You forget yourself.” He managed at last.

“My apologies.” Kuroo kneeled to kiss the tops of Kenma’s boots.  “You look magnificent, my _lord_.  My Prince.” 

Kenma pushed experimentally against Kuroo’s weeping length with the toe of his boot.  Kuroo cried out and arched his back elegantly, bringing his hips forward to meet the cold pressure.  Every measure of his magnificent body begged for release, and Kenma ached to give it to him.  Revisiting the vial, Kenma lazily poured some of the oil onto himself, ignoring the excess staining his trousers. 

“Sit.”

“As you command.” Kuroo whispered affectionately, slowly rising to his feet.

Kuroo moved to lift one leg and brace it against the seat as Kenma scooted forward, but his Lord grabbed his hips suddenly to turn him around, making him face out at the vastness of the hall. 

_The view from the throne…  See what it is to have my power and feel it inside you._

Kuroo felt Kenma’s hands pull him down, and he braced himself by grabbing the armrests as he slowly lowered himself onto Kenma’s cock. 

“Ahh… Ngh!  Hngh!”

His voice rang out through the splendid space, echoing in a not-at-all kingly fashion.  But he was not seated upon the golden chair _as_ the Sovereign, he was seated upon the Sovereign himself, as little more than a willing sheath.  Filled deep, he shivered and arched his back so he could rest his head on Kenma’s shoulder behind him. 

“Ngh…”

Through half-lidded eyes, he saw the coronet glimmer softly atop Kenma’s head, and he rocked his hips impatiently.  This earned him a gentle caress that ran down the curve of his back, up his sides, then around to his chest.  Kenma’s lithe fingers pinched and pulled at his nipples roughly, and Kuroo groaned with enough volume to fill the room.

“Imagine if Court were in session…” Kenma whispered into his ear, his own voice hoarse from the effort to sound unaffected.  “If all the noble men and women, members of the Royal Council, the merchants and the priests… even the peasants; If they could see you like this.”

“Hnnngh…” Kuroo could almost imagine it, their silent, judgmental stares.

Kenma gave a sudden thrust, making Kuroo cry out pitifully, and his face burned with the same shame that set his body ablaze. 

“So handsome and intimidating in your full regalia, but spread wide like this?” Kenma urged Kuroo’s knees wider apart with his own and thrust in harder, his shoulders pressing in hard against the back cushions of the throne.  

How much time until the next patrol?  Kenma had lost track of the time.  Even if Kuroo could stifle his voice completely, there was enough sound from the repeated sounds of their bodies crashing together.  The skin slapping against skin, the slick noises of the fluids that coated them… But it would sound even more chaotic were the throne not bolted down, immovable.  It was their anchor, and it encouraged a steady rhythm for Kenma’s hips, strong and consistent. 

It seemed to Kenma that he was moaning louder than Kuroo—other times, when Kuroo was the sword, this was undeniably true—and he struggled to catch his breath and maintain his pace.  Unlike Kuroo, he still had all his clothes mostly on, and he was burning in them.  The part of him that knew only desire wanted to be free of them so he could press his bare flesh against his husband’s and feel his pulse dance across his skin.  But the part of him that still felt the burden of a crown not yet his could _not_ imagine pressing his naked body directly to the throne. 

As if sensing Kenma’s distraction, Kuroo brought his arms up to wrap them around Kenma’s neck, fingers reaching to lightly caress his cheek.  The gesture stilled Kenma’s hips, and he allowed himself to lean into Kuroo’s touch, before turning his head to kiss and nibble the pulse on Kuroo’s neck.  He thought Kuroo might turn his head to kiss him, but instead those pretty pink lips began to whisper.

“If you wished to fill this room to the brim… with your subjects lined from wall to wall to look upon _this_ spectacle… I would give them such a show…” Here, Kuroo slowly swirled his hips, making Kenma hiss in pleasure.

“How provocative you are…” Kenma murmured against Kuroo’s flushed skin.  “Do you feel no shame?”

“Shame?  The kingdom watched as I devoted myself to you, body and soul, at our wedding. This is but the consummation of those vows.  They would see only how I am wholly yours.”  He moved his hips again and let his voice grow low and dangerous.  “There is no shame in that.”

Kuroo’s fingers moved from Kenma’s cheek to lightly trace the coronet where it sat around his temple.  Gasping, he rocked his own hips slowly as he trailed the raised filigree pattern of the silver as it curled itself around smoothly cut rubies and garnet stones.  He felt how perfectly fitted it was for Kenma, how gracefully it settled atop his golden hair and crowned him Prince.  _His_ Prince. 

What a gift Kenma had been… though Kuroo could not have understood just how much back when they had first been engaged.  As a second son, he could never hope to wear the crown himself barring a family tragedy.  The history of second sons and royal siblings was one of obscurity or horrid betrayal.  In an attempt to remove himself as a potential threat to his brother’s accession and in order to serve his kingdom however he could, Kuroo had sworn himself to military service and had resigned himself to the life of a soldier.  He understood duty.  Love was something mystically unobtainable in that previous life, he knew he would be arranged into a marriage for political convenience. 

When the engagement between himself and Kenma had been settled by councils and treaties, diplomatic handshakes and wax seals, Kuroo had looked at his beautiful husband-to-be acorss that long, wooden table in shock.  Kenma had mirrored that shock.  As their royal parents bowed and made pleasantries, Kuroo had wistfully thought to himself: _I hope we can grow to love each other._ And perhaps, Kenma had mirrored that sentiment too. 

“My Prince…” Kuroo whispered. 

Kenma’s reply was to plow into him with a force so sudden Kuroo could not suppress the cry of ecstasy that escaped him.  He would’ve supplemented with an additional moan or several if Kenma didn’t immediately cover his mouth with one hand, hissing into his ear.

“Shh!”

Trembling, Kuroo heard the muffled clamor of armored steps approaching—a touch more hurried than before, as if some disturbance had moved them to speed.  The steps paused beside the main entrance doors, listening. 

Against his better judgment, Kenma teased open Kuroo’s lips with his fingers, slipping them inside and pressing them down on Kuroo’s tongue.  As Kuroo gasped and let out a near-silent moan, Kenma gave a slow, hard thrust, _daring_ Kuroo to expose them.  He thrust again, and his aim was rewarded by Kuroo tangling his fingers into Kenma’s hair, arching his back as they scrambled for purchase, nearly knocking his coronet askew.  Impressively, he was as quiet as a mouse, allowing only the occasional voiceless whimper to color his breathing.  Kenma felt Kuroo come further undone with every slow, hard thrust, but the guard had not yet moved on.

With his other hand, Kenma gripped the base of Kuroo’s sobbing cock tight, forbidding him completion.

“Ngh!  Mmph…”

Kuroo’s muffled protests did nothing to stop Kenma from continuing to move in and out of him with a peculiar determination.  It was a challenge for him also.  Could he keep up his own pace and avoid spilling into Kuroo before the guard outside moved on?  Could he make Kuroo lose control and scream out his rapture even though it was decidedly against their better interests?

He had forgotten the objective of the game.

Kuroo pulled roughly on his hair and sobbed quietly in his lap, mouth falling slack around Kenma’s fingers.  He was overstimulated and delirious and helplessly subject to Kenma’s every whim.  Ah.  Objective cleared. 

Kenma listened intently, waiting for the guard’s steps to move further down the hall and away for good.  Silence echoed beneath the muffled ecstasy of Kuroo writhing in his lap, and he let it linger for several more thrusts—until he was sure they were completely alone.  Then he moved both of his hands to Kuroo’s hips and gave himself to abandon, pounding into Kuroo’s heat until the Prince consort came with Kenma’s name on his lips, shuddering and gasping until Kenma too at last came with a groan, filling Kuroo’s insides until it leaked out of him and soaked them both. 

The torches flickered, and the grand throne room hummed with heat, ringing with the tones of their ragged breathing.  Kuroo had collapsed into Kenma’s arms, entirely spent.  Everything about him looked a mess save for the warm, satisfied smile that played on his lips.

They kissed finally, their lips coaxing out the tender affection beneath their rough play.  They kissed as husbands now, not king and subject.  The game was concluded.  Kenma pulled the cornet from his head and peppered Kuroo’s cheek with kisses after their lips finally parted. 

“We should return…” he murmured.

“I don’t trust my legs to carry me.” Kuroo panted.

“Well I certainly won’t carry you.” Kenma huffed, patting Kuroo’s leg gently to make him stand.  He doubted he could even if he tried.  He had something of a giant in his royal consort, with long limbs to match his incredible height.  They’d be a ridiculous sight to see wandering the castle halls at this hour, nudity notwithstanding.

Kenma unclasped his long, red velvet cape and draped it around Kuroo, who had brought no clothing with him whatsoever as instructed.  Since Kuroo was taller, the fabric didn’t quite reach the floor; his thin ankles peeked out scandalously from beneath the hem.  In return for the cape, Kuroo meticulously re-laced Kenma’s breeches for him, kissing the top of his head when he had finished. 

As silent as shadows, they snuck their way through the corridors of the palace to return to their bedchambers.  Kenma thanked his childhood self for having had such a penchant for wandering the castle at night.  His intimate knowledge of palace guard patrol areas and schedules proved itself quite invaluable in this hour of need. 

Kuroo might have teased him for this on any other night when he wasn’t naked as the day he was born, dressed only in a cape too small for him and covered in suspicious bodily fluids. 

More than once, Kenma’s knowledge had been lacking or perhaps out-of-date and Kuroo’s heightened awareness preserved their dignity as they ducked around dark corners to avoid a pacing soldier.  It would have been more terrifying if either of them had been alone, but together it was difficult not to enjoy the mischief some.  Really, it was their giggles threatened to give them away.

The relief of being behind closed doors in their own private space was palpable, though ironically, it seemed Kenma felt the comfort most.  Kuroo wanted nothing more than to throw himself into the downy feathers of their bed, but he was unclean and sticky… so he moved to the bathing room instead.  It was too late at night to draw water into the tub, but the reserve basin and a damp towel would serve him well enough. 

“Let me.”

Kenma’s voice was soft behind him, all the authority gone from it, but it was a command all the same.  He sounded not-at-all like the kingly figure he had been minutes before.  Draped now in a soft, silk robe without all of his regalia, he was in his truest state.  Kuroo adored him this way. 

The golden-haired prince pulled one of the towels from above the sink and soaked it, wringing out the water carefully before moving to wipe down the front of Kuroo’s body.  Just before pressing the cloth to those impressive muscles, Kenma gently warned, “It’s a touch cold.”

Kuroo tensed and his abs flexed as he felt the foretold chill, and Kenma cleaned him quite thoroughly, silently a little grateful for the lack of warm water.  After he finished with the front, he took special care with Kuroo’s back, taking precautions to be extremely gentle as he wiped up his legs and between his cheeks, kissing the red and tender skin of his bum in apology.  A little spanking meant little to a hardened soldier who had received actual battle wounds, but Kenma was no foreign foe—he did not ever want to wish Kuroo any actual harm.

When at last they could lay themselves in the comfort of their bed, Kenma curled up into Kuroo’s side, laying his head on his husband’s bare chest as he pulled up the blankets to cover them both. 

“Tetsurou…” Kenma mumbled softly.

“Yes, Kenma?” Kuroo began idly twirling a strand of Kenma’s hair between his fingers, eyes falling closed as comfort washed over him.  He would sleep long and deep tonight if he could help it. 

“You were very obedient tonight.  And… _demure_.”

“And you were quite the magnificent King.” Kuroo hummed, turning to press a kiss to Kenma’s forehead.

“I’m not yet King.” Kenma whispered, his voice suddenly far away.

Kuroo pulled their bodies closer and spoke again with unwavering confidence.  “But someday you will be.  And I know you will be a great one.”

“Do you really believe that?  Just because I can manage a game like this every now and again…”

“It takes more to be a King than the ability to dole out punishments and command willing subjects into submission.”  Kuroo smiled.  “Though it certainly helps and can be quite fun.  Beyond that, my love, you are intelligent, perceptive, quick to conjure solutions and rarely impulsive in action.  These are the traits history will value most, and they are the ones I have come to adore most as well.”  Kuroo pressed his cheek to the top of Kenma’s head so he could feel his smile in the dark. 

Kenma lay in silence a while, listening to the steady beat of Kuroo’s heart—his strong, honest heart.  So capable of vast quantities of love.  Within this heart beat a love for his former people, for whom he had been willing to give his life to defend.  Yet Kenma knew also of the love his prince now bore for his adoptive kingdom—it shone in his council and advice offered to aid the rule of Kenma’s father.  He truly did want the best for Nekoma and its people; he heard it ring in his heartbeat even now.  And of course, within this heart beat a love for Kenma himself.  Kenma considered this perhaps the greatest feat, as he had always considered himself a difficult man to love. 

“I shall draft a new trade agreement tomorrow.” Kenma suddenly declared.  “As you love my people as your own, I will remember to love yours as mine.  Their prosperity is our own.  Perhaps the council might argue that it does not _best_ serve our own interests, but there is still much benefit to be had in what you had originally proposed.” 

“Do you mean that, my lord?” Kuroo’s dark eyes somehow still shone in the darkness, but Kenma pinched a small sliver of skin in response. 

“Address.” He complained.

“Kenma.” Kuroo corrected himself. 

“You said it takes more to be a King than doling out punishments.  A good king also knows when to reward good behavior, does he not?”

“I’m happy to have pleased you.” Kenma could hear Kuroo’s smile in his skipped heartbeat. 

“And…” Kenma breathed.  “A good king knows also… when to listen.  Even to dissenting opinions around him.  I don’t want blind obedience, especially not from you.  I value your honest council, as you gave me today.” 

Kuroo smiled and lightly teased, “Will further honest council inspire more nights like this one?”

Kenma pouted and stabbed a finger into Kuroo’s side in retaliation.  “You’ve never spoken out against me before.  I was… I felt I had lost face earlier.  But… whatever our royal status and our official titles, you are my equal, my lord husband.” 

“Address?” Kuroo teased.

“Tetsurou.  My Tetsurou.” Kenma corrected, closing his eyes with a truly regal smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for royal AU's if I'm going to be honest. I had a lot of fun writing this commission, and I would like to thank curiouslylazy and skittidyne for giving me the opportunity! Thank you so much for your continued support of my writing; I hope I didn't disappoint!


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